i scrub the konjac sponge into my pores,
pressing it against my forehead lines
as if it could save me from that impossible choice
between botox and self-acceptance.
i was born cursed by aphrodite,
my face a squarish-round
that gets too wide when i smile,
my plumpness entirely unpleasant,
my arms covered in keratosis scales
my very being repelling the camera
in every photo ever taken of me.
however, i had one reprieve
i had the odd pimple here and there,
but I did not have the constant eruptions
that scarred the faces of some peers.
not that i would gloat,
only sigh in relief that i was shown
some small bit of mercy.
but now there is a line across the forehead,
a punishment from aphrodite for being too expressive.
the undereye circles grow darker and thinner,
a symptom of my mercurial sleep patterns.
my face is baby-smooth now,
but red and raw.
(and still has lines)
perhaps i should not have paired it
with an exfoliating cleanser,
but it felt like neither alone was enough.
i soothe the skin
with serums and creams
that might all be snake oil and placebos,
but at least it feels like i'm doing something.